


Dream a Little Dream of Me

by FlyingwithRavens



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Train Sex, Victory Tour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 16:55:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17247950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingwithRavens/pseuds/FlyingwithRavens
Summary: Katniss was sure her feelings for Peeta were purely platonic... until he shows up in her dreams one night in a way she can't deny.





	Dream a Little Dream of Me

_“Peeta, Peeta,” my voice sounds strange and unfamiliar. It’s husky and breathy all at once, unrecognizable, but dripping with need. His strong baker’s hands drift further and further down my body, skimming over my breasts, teasing at the waist of my panties. Slowly, almost torturously, as though he’s trying to drive me wild with need, he slips his fingers in to explore my wetness._

  
_I let out an embarrassingly loud moan at the contact, and he smothers it with a kiss. His fingers probe my opening, and I find myself winding my hands into his hair, craving the contact, needing him inside me. “Peeta…” I whine, bucking in to his hand. He moans as his name falls from my lips, leaning down to suck languidly on my neck._

  
_“You taste so good…” he mumbles, working me slowly with his mouth and fingers. Pressure begins to build in my stomach as he increases his pace, in and out, in and out, like fire unfurling throughout me. It slams into me like a tidal wave, stars exploding everywhere, and he keeps going, forcing me to ride it out until it feels as though my limbs have turned to mush._

  
_“PEETA!”_

___  
___ I open my eyes to darkness, panting, and sit up slowly in bed. The train moves swiftly through the night, carrying us closer and closer to District Ten, closer and closer to the Capitol. The thought sends waves of terror down my spine, but another feeling lingers below that. I can feel the wetness in my panties, practically dripping down my thighs, and blush heavily.

  
Peeta and I haven’t spoken since our fight in the attic of District Eleven. The look of hurt in his eyes as he stormed away from me, oozing a kind of anger I’d never seen in him before… I was too ashamed to look at him for the rest of the night. Yet now, alone in the dark, my skin feels electric. I need him, need something. I need to forget. My dream resurfaces again in my mind, and all I can feel are his hands on me, driving me forward.

  
Slowly, I slide from my bed and carefully slink into the hallway. That dream hadn’t been like the kisses in the arena. I wasn’t feeling attraction… I was feeling lust. At least, that’s what it sounded like, from the way Gale talked about all the girls he brought to the Slag Heap. What would it be like to bring Peeta there?

  
It doesn’t take long for me to find his compartment and quietly slip inside. He sleeps peacefully, splayed teasingly across his luscious Capitol bed, dressed in only boxers and long satin pants. His body has become stronger since our games. He no longer looks starved and malnourished. I think briefly of those horrible last few weeks in the games, where he lay in our cave, gaunt and emaciated, waiting for death with a deep sense of resignation. How far away it all seems now. Now he’s muscular, filled out… a man. Smatterings of hair cover his chest, where the Prep Team hadn’t removed them, and my fingers itch to reach out and touch them.

  
I pull back the covers beside him and slide in, melding my body to his. He’s warm and smells of cinnamon, something the Capitol showers and clothes can never seem to wash away. “Peeta,” I whisper, beginning to feel apprehensive. What if he kicks me out? What if he doesn’t want me here, in his bed?

  
His eyes open with a start, and he jumps back in shock, before finally realizing who it is. “Katniss? What are you--” I smash my mouth into his before he has time to finish his question, desperate to let him know just exactly what I’m doing here. At first he seems confused and tentative, almost in shock. This is probably the last thing he was expecting to happen. I pull him in even closer, pushing my hands into his curly golden locks, feeling how smooth they are on the pads of my fingers. He’s resistant, unsure of himself, yet gentle in only the way Peeta can be, still looking out for me, still trying to protect me.

  
I can feel him begin to pull away, pushing at my shoulders with his hands weakly, still groggy with sleep despite my onslaught. “Katniss,” he mutters as I continue to place urgent kisses against his soft lips, “what are you doing?” What am I doing? It isn’t like me, this affection, this desire, and yet I’m powerless to stop it, moving along in its unstoppable current.

  
“Please Peeta,” I whimper, reaching down to brush my hands over the broad planes of his chest. The muscles flex under my fingertips and he releases a breathy whimper, his body reacting of its own accord. I push my hips against his insistently, feeling the stirrings of his erection. I may not be entirely comfortable with the human body, but my mother always made sure I was more than adequately informed on it.

  
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, glancing down at his arousal as though his body were betraying him, giving into primal needs he was powerless to fight. I’ve never heard him curse before and something about it tightens my very core, sending a wave of pleasure through my veins.

  
His hands have stilled on my shoulders as I gently ply his mouth open with my tongue, slipping in to taste him, claim him as my own. He tastes of the hot chocolate they served at dinner, warm and sweet, yet comforting, and I work to suppress a moan. Years of holding back my own emotions and hormones for the sake of my family seem to come rushing back at me all at once as I grind into him, slanting my mouth heavily across his. “Peeta…” I groan, pawing at him, trying to prompt some sort of reaction before I lose myself.

  
I lean down to press wet, sloppy kisses to his neck and suddenly he comes undone before me, surging forward to grasp my head with his hands, attacking my mouth and pushing against me frantically. I nearly lose it right then, greedily pushing myself against him, plundering his body with my hands and mouth.

  
“Fuck Katniss,” he snaps as I press hot kisses to his chest, my hand trailing south until I reach the waistline of his satin pants. His hands roam my body freely, over my hips and legs, finally finding a home on my breasts. Peeta lets out a sigh of relief as he gropes my bottom with his other hand. “I can’t believe—” I cut him off with a deep kiss before he can get any further.

  
“Peeta…” I mutter, pressing my forehead against his, searching the dark desperately for some hint of blue in his eyes. “Fuck me.” He moans loudly at this, flipping us over so that I lay helplessly on my back, pinned beneath him. Briefly I’m reminded of his wrestling matches and the way he deftly pinned his way to the finals, another wave of arousal washing over me.

  
His hands grip the bottom of my night gown and rip it roughly over my head. The sound of tearing fabric slices through the room, the only other noise aside from our heavy breathing. He looks down at me in awe, his hands reaching out to trace the contours of my skin and explore my breasts. It’s gentle and sweet, almost a little shy, and I feel my heart constrict. This is my Peeta. He’s not vulgar or hasty. He doesn’t want to be fucked, he wants to make love; tenderly and passionately, the way he paints and bakes.

  
“Peeta,” I hiss as he gently hooks his thumbs in the waistband of my panties and pulls them slowly down my legs, savoring the moment, losing himself in it completely. His hand reaches forward to cup me, feeling the wetness slide against his fingers, and I squirm beneath him. “Peeta,” I try again, a bit more insistently.

  
He’s still lost in a trance, staring down at my naked form in the soft moonlight that filters in through the compartment windows, eyes hooded with desire. I take a deep breath to remind myself that this is Peeta, that I want this, that I need this, and reach forward to touch his hard length with my hand. He growls loudly, melting against me, and I feel that desperate heat return to his actions as he pulls me against him. His reaction only spurs me on, and I reach down to remove his pants with a newfound confidence. The muscles of his legs are strong and full from years of heavy lifting and hard work, and I run my fingers greedily through the soft hair that resides on them, almost jealous that mine has been taken from me over and over again.

  
“You’re so beautiful,” He whispers reverently, planting a line of kisses down my jaw as I slowly reach down to work him with my hand. I’m surprised by the feeling of it, hard and smooth, yet almost velvety in texture. Carefully, I run my finger over the head, feeling a drop of moisture bead onto my thumb. Peeta hisses at the contact, his hips bucking forward of their own volition.

  
I take him more fully in my hand and begin to pump up and down the length, the way I’d heard other girls talking about in school, and I can hear each sharp intake of his breath as I continue on. He seems to have lost all coherency, shoving his blonde head down into the crook of my neck, locking his teeth around the tender flesh desperately. “Fuck, Katniss…” His words trail off unfinished when I reach around to scratch my nails up the plain of his back.

  
His own hand trails downward and gently caresses the slick folds of my opening, before cautiously slipping in. I can’t contain the gasp that bursts out of me, tossing my head back into his pillows, overwhelmed by the scent and feel of him everywhere. Bitterly, I think that this kind of pleasure must be why Gale disappeared to the Slag Heap every day after school, but the thought is soon lost as he begins to push his fingers in and out in a pulsating rhythm, just like the dream that carried me to his bed in the first place.

“Peeta…” I moan into his ear, and he picks up the pace, driving me closer and closer to an edge I didn’t even know existed.

  
It was good, so completely good, yet it wasn’t what I wanted. “I need you inside me, Peeta. Please,” my words melt against him like winter snow and he nods, removing his fingers and pushing himself more fully on top of me. His arms are braced on either side of my head, muscles strained and flush with the weight, and I can’t help but gawk, flashing back to all those stolen moments watching him chuck bags of flour over his shoulder. It’s consuming, the way he positions himself over me, staring down with intense eyes, so blue in their depths. “Are you sure… this is okay… I mean…” He stutters, strained, and I feel the energy buzzing through him.

  
“They gave me a shot in the Capitol. I’m sure. Please,” I whisper reaching around to pull at his back and drag my nails down his skin, searching for any way to show him just how much I want this. He lets out a loud groan and nods against my shoulder, leaning down to kiss me gently on the lips.

  
“Okay…” He whispers quietly, more to himself than me, before pushing his mouth urgently against mine, almost pleading with me. His hands works its way down beneath us, positioning himself at my entrance carefully, bathing his hands in the slick wetness that seems to gush out of me like a waterfall. “God you’re so wet.” His breath hitches when I push my hips forward, growing more desperate for him by the second.

  
“Please,” I moan, thrusting forward again, needing him inside me, filling me to the brim, pushing me over the edge and ending the agony he’s caused me ever since I woke up to that foolish dream. Except it wasn’t foolish at all. It was primal and persistent and it awoke feelings I didn’t even realize were residing in me. I didn’t just need sex. I needed sex from Peeta. There is no one else I would want to be with. “Please,” I try again, and I can feel his body tense as he slowly begins to push into me.

  
“Katniss,” he pleads, entering slowly, carefully, “I don’t want to hurt you.” He presses his forehead against mine, so close I can nearly count the faint freckles on his nose, and pushes in deeper. I gasp loudly as pain circulates through me, the last vestige of my innocence torn at his hands, and he pauses. His body is rigid, unwilling to move even an inch.

  
Slowly, my body begins to stretch and grow accustomed to the feeling of fullness. It’s strange, sharp, but not unwelcome. Peeta places a gentle kiss to my forehead, eyes trained on me, unable to look away. Tentatively, he begins to dust my face in small ardent kisses, working his way down to my jaw and neck, as far as his length, lodged deep inside me, will allow him to go. “Peeta…” I plead, my voice breathy and unfamiliar in the darkness, “Please move. You have to move.”

  
He takes a deep breath, nodding almost imperceptibly, before placing one last feverish kiss to my lips. I can feel his hips tremble as he begins to slowly push in and out of me, over and over again, working to find his rhythm. Peeta moans sweetly into my ear, his hands bunching up the sheets beside my head, his pace descending into a quick staccato as he thrusts into me. “Katniss… I don’t know how long this will last… God, you’re just so…” He grits his teeth, placing an open mouthed kiss to the tender flesh of my neck.

  
Heat begins to unfurl deep within me, the odd feeling of fullness beginning to feel more and more pleasurable with each stroke. His rhythm is punishing and I wrap my legs around his torso, guiding him in, begging to feel more of him. This is what I needed. My dream comes back to me, the very thing that inspired these intense feelings of want, and I silently thank myself for having the courage to come in here. It’s more than I could’ve imagined and I release a breathy moan when he drives into me hard, twisting my fingers deeply into his hair.

  
He leans down to place a deep kiss to my lips, prying them open with his tongue and pushing his way in, tasting all of me. The feeling of him inside me, surrounding me, overwhelming me, is intoxicating, and he swallows the moan that erupts out of me without warning. “Katniss,” he whispers, his voice gravelly with exertion and pleasure, “touch yourself.”

  
My eyes snap open to meet his, dark with desire, as he strokes in and out of me. “What?”

  
He smiles at my confusion and leans down on his forearms to place hot kisses all along the side of my throat, swirling his tongue against my pulse point until I squirm beneath him. “I want this to feel good for you too,” he tells me, moving up to whisper directly into my ear. The heat from his mouth raises every hair on the back of my neck as I shudder in pleasure. “Don’t you know how?”

  
I want to be offended that he even had to ask, before I realize that the question is not entirely unwarranted. Compared to him, warm and sweet like melted butter, I am frigid; I’m an Ice Queen. And it isn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility that I might have been too preoccupied surviving instead of feeling that I never ventured down below. It’s my own fault if he doesn’t see me as any kind of sexual being in my own right. But I do know how.

  
There were many nights in the Seam, when Prim and my mother were long asleep, that I snuck into the front room of our house to relieve my needs on our threadbare couch. It felt too wrong to do it with Prim beside me, but when I was alone… how could I not? I tried, though, to keep it as blank as possible. To think of some nameless, faceless man giving me all the pleasure I could ever want. Bringing me to the brink with his hands and tongue. Lifting his shirt off. Bending down to pick something off the floor. Chucking a sack of flour over his shoulder… and then the fantasy was gone, and the faceless man suddenly had shaggy blonde hair and blue eyes, and looked undeniably like the baker’s youngest. I always felt so dirty after that. So improper. Just one of the many reasons I could never look Peeta Mellark in the eye, even though I could always feel his eyes on me.  
But now… now he’s asking me to. He wants me to think those thoughts. To feel those things. And to do it all with him in mind. “I know how,” I whisper, as he continues to push in and out of me.

  
“Show me. Please.” He takes my hand gently and guides it down between our bodies, nestling it in the exact right place, securely on top of that fiery little bud. I feel myself blushing from the tips of my ears all the way down to my toes, but he looks at me so intently, and with so much desire, that I can hardly deny him. I begin to work my finger in quick little circles, faster and faster, thinking of him all the while.

  
His eyes. His hair. The way his forearms look when he hugs me from behind. The strong line of his jaw. The feeling of his full lips on mine. Their taste. The smell of cinnamon that always seems stuck to him, no matter where we go or what we wear. His hands and tongue all over me, tasting me, pleasuring me. “Peeta,” I moan, and he groans him response, picking up the pace as my own heat begins to grow.

  
It builds up slowly inside of me, starting in the deepest pool of my belly and unfurling outwards in an unstoppable inferno, rushing to every extremity of my body until I cry out in ecstasy. Peeta thrusts wildly now, and it feels so good as the waves of pleasure tear through me that I think for a moment I might cum again. I shout his name and buck into him, our hips clacking deliciously under the covers. “Katniss,” he moans, his voice thick with emotion and pleasure, “I’m going to--”

  
And then he cries out in relief, shuddering as he empties himself inside me. He collapses under the weight of his arms, crushing me beneath him, but I don’t care. I’m glad to be there, spent, exhausted, and utterly sated. I hope Peeta is as happy as I was. He seems to be as he places soft kisses to the corner of my jaw and sighs in pleasure.

  
I don’t know exactly how I feel, now that all was said and done. But I don’t have much time to think about it, because before I know it, we’re both drifting to sleep, kept afloat by waves of pleasure and contentment.

  
The next morning, I rise before Peeta. It feels almost wrong to leave him, naked and covered by sheets, his face soft and smooth with sleep, but I have to. We are arriving in District Ten in less than an hour, and I need a shower before I face Effie. What if she can tell something had happened last night? What if the whole train knows? What will I say? How can I explain myself?

  
The corridor is blissfully empty as I enter, and I rush as fast as I can down the hall until I was safely behind my own door. My room looks the same as the last time I saw it, but I feel oddly different. More mature, but also less mature. Softer. As if, somehow, Peeta had transferred something to me last night that opened up a new compartment inside me.  
It makes my heart swell in a way I almost don’t understand. Is this something I want? Does having Peeta in my heart, in this new and relatively undiscovered way, make me stronger or weaker? He was my ally. My partner. My friend. And now my lover? I decide that I like it that way. That it’s a good thing.

  
Until I see the little white card. It rests crisply on my bureau, and even as I pick it up I can smell the roses reeking from within it. Synthetic. Sickly. The opposite of everything good in our world. It can only be from President Snow. I want to vomit. To cry. To scream and throw things. But I don’t. I think of Peeta, take a deep breath, and slowly open the card.

___  
_Excellent job last night, Ms. Everdeen, but I’m going to need more. Much more. Keep up the good work. Best wishes. See you in the Capitol.__ _ _

_____  
_\- President Snow__ _ _ _ _

And then I fall down on the floor and cry.


End file.
